


Alone At Last

by anodyna, soixante_quinze



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Canon Het Relationship, F/M, First Time, Het, Pon Farr, Vulcan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-26
Updated: 2016-09-26
Packaged: 2018-08-17 10:55:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8141320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anodyna/pseuds/anodyna, https://archiveofourown.org/users/soixante_quinze/pseuds/soixante_quinze
Summary: When Spock goes missing from the Enterprise, Nyota finds him alone, suffering from a mysterious ailment.  Luckily for both of them, Nyota knows how to handle it.





	

**Author's Note:**

> 2010: This story began as the Team Ashayam Ship Wars entry for the prompt "NCC-17" (aka The Porn Prompt). Now revised to include more actual plot! And, uh, less abrupt porn.
> 
> 2016: This story somehow didn't make it when I uploaded my others to AO3. Thanks to soixante_quinze for reminding me that it needs to be here!

His body looks beautiful by firelight.

It's the first thought Nyota registers, standing in the doorway of the little cabin where a series of bribes had told her Spock could be found. 

Her next thought is, _something's wrong._ Spock lies motionless on a mat before the fire, his chest bare, one arm covering his face. In a second Nyota is on her knees beside him, tricorder out, the kit of hypos from McCoy nearly tumbling from her shaking fingers.

"Nyota," he says. His voice is rusty, like he hasn't spoken for days. He shifts his arm and gazes up at her, his pupils large and black. "You should not be here."

She shakes her head. "Did you think you could beam down and no one would look for you? Scotty told Kirk as soon as you left." 

"I desired—" he draws a shuddering breath, "—privacy. That is all."

"You know there's no privacy in Starfleet," she says, pressing her hand to his forehead. It's an automatic gesture; the tricorder already shows no fever. But he's not okay. His breathing is shallow, punctuated by gasps, and his body is tense, his back slightly arched, his hands clenched. 

Nyota leans down and strokes his cheek. "Spock, I need you to tell me. Is it your Time?" 

"No. It is—— _ah_ —" Nyota watches, helpless, as a spasm passes over him and his eyes flutter shut. For a minute he just lies there, panting softly. Then he seems to gather himself; he takes a deep breath and opens his eyes—but he looks at the fire instead of at her. 

"It is T'Pring," he says quietly.

Nyota waits for him to elaborate, but he doesn't. "T'Pring?" she says. "I don't understand. I thought you weren't—" She trails off, unsure what it was she actually thought. That they were over. That they'd parted without hard feelings. Nothing that explains how T'Pring could have anything to do with Spock ending up here, like this.

Spock keeps his eyes on the fire. "T'Pring and I have agreed to end our betrothal, but until the ceremonies are performed, we are still mentally bonded. We had planned to complete the dissolution of the bond in a few weeks' time, when I visited my father in the new Vulcan colony."

"Oh." Vulcan betrothal is something they've talked about— _had_ to talk about, when it became clear that what was between them was more than just a student-teacher crush. But the intimacy between them isn't complete yet, and the imminence of the change takes Nyota by surprise. "I didn't realize—you didn't tell me it was so soon."

He looks at her, finally, and his expression is so unguarded that she realizes why he was he avoiding her eyes. "I wanted—whatever happens between us to occur in its own time," he says. "I would not have you think me—impatient."

She huffs out a tiny laugh, partly at the absurdity of the idea of an impatient Vulcan, partly in relief. "You were afraid I'd think _you_ were impatient. Do you have any idea how crazy it's making me to wait? Being able to kiss you and smell you and look at you and not—"

She breaks off as he draws a sudden sharp breath, his body taut, his hands twisting in the light blanket that covers him to the waist. "Nyota," he says, his voice tight, "please, you must—" He can't continue, just squeezes his eyes shut and shakes his head.

"Spock! Please, I don't know how to help you." The hypos are still beside her, McCoy's careful instructions running through her head, but all she wants to do is reach for him—to comfort him, to ease his pain until she can get him safely back to the _Enterprise_. "Spock, you said it was T'Pring. What has she done? Talk to me!"

It seems to take forever for him to regain his control. But he does, gradually—his body settling, his breathing becoming more even. His eyes when he looks at her are intensely black in the firelight, and there's a faint sheen of sweat on his chest and arms. "It is Stonn, T'Pring's intended," he says. "He has entered _pon farr_ sooner than expected. They are—" he pauses, searching for words, "—engaged in intimacy. Because T'Pring and I are still bonded, I am experiencing her sensations. Also those of Stonn, to the extent that she shares them." 

Nyota blinks. "You mean—they're having sex. And you feel it."

Spock nods. "I believed I could control it with meditation, but I have been—unsuccessful." He inclines his head toward the hearth and Nyota recognizes the torn remains of his meditation tunic. Finally she understands: He's not in pain—just hopelessly, helplessly aroused. The light blanket has slipped from his body and she can see his hardness plainly, straining against the thin fabric of his trousers. 

It's difficult not to stare. She's never seen Spock like this before—half-naked, vulnerable and turned on—so unlike the calm Vulcan who's kissed and touched hands with her, who's so scrupulous about not letting things go further, who doesn't want her to know he's ending his engagement because it might make her feel pressured. A Vulcan who'd rather beam down to a planet without leave than have anyone see him this way. 

Nyota feels a pang of guilt, that maybe by coming here she's violated Spock's privacy. The thought recalls something else: "Spock, you told me you didn't know about Stonn before—that T'Pring kept the knowledge of their relationship from reaching you through the bond."

The corner of his mouth curves up in a faint approximation of a smile. "Yes. And you are wondering why, if she has been able to keep her thoughts and sensations from me before, she does not do so now."

"Yes, exactly."

"T'Pring is not to blame. She is only doing what is necessary for Stonn's survival." He pauses for a moment, swallowing hard, as if one of those necessary things is happening as he speaks. He resumes in a strained voice: "Nyota, you have never experienced _pon farr_ , so it will be difficult for you to understand how consuming it is. Both partners become affected by it. I cannot fault T'Pring if under the circumstances she neglects to shield the bond between us." 

Another thought occurs to Nyota. "Spock, is that why you wanted us to wait? Because T'Pring might feel it if we—" She falters, searching for words he'd find appropriate. "—if we were intimate."

"That is one reason. My mental defenses are strong, but T'Pring's are stronger. She knew of my emotional attachment to you before I spoke of it, while she succeeded in hiding her involvement with Stonn from me. It is only the distraction of Stonn's _pon farr_ that has led her to drop her vigilance. Although now that I have asked to break our bond, she may place less importance on concealing the nature of their relations. For this, too, I cannot fault her."

Spock's voice has grown quieter, as if he's becoming tired from the effort. Nyota is reaching for his hand when he speaks again, low and urgent. "Nyota, you are not safe here. You must leave."

She pulls back her hand in surprise. "I don't—I can't leave you alone."

"You must. _Pon farr_ may be transmitted from one Vulcan to another. As Stonn melds with T'Pring, his _pon farr_ may trigger hers, and through her open connection with me she may trigger mine. I do not think she realizes this possibility." He meets her eyes, and Nyota is startled to see a trace of fear there. "If that happens, I do not know what I might do. I have never—" He stops, flushing green to the tips of his ears.

"You've never—it would be your first time." 

"My first _pon farr_ , yes." He looks away, embarrassed. 

Nyota leans down and touches his cheek, making him turn back toward her. "So—you need her to stop. To close the mental connection between you." 

He nods. The flush is deeper now, spreading to his chest. "Yes. But that would require—" He doesn't finish the sentence, but it's not necessary. Nyota understands now. 

"You would have to get her attention through the bond. And then she would know how she'd affected you."

He doesn't have to nod this time—his look is enough. "She would see it as a fault of my human side," he says. "What is acceptable for a Vulcan in _pon farr_ is shameful at any other time." He looks at the fire again, like he thinks that explanation is all that needs to be said. 

Nyota watches the muscles in his torso clench and release as he struggles for control. He has so much Vulcan pride, and so much human stubbornness. He would choose to lie here and suffer, even risk going into _pon farr_ alone, rather than touch himself and have T'Pring see his weakness. It's touching—and also ridiculously male, and not something Nyota's going to stand for.

"Spock," Nyota says, and her tone makes him look at her again, his eyebrow raised in surprise. She leans down and kisses him gently, her fingertips tracing his jaw, his neck, coming to rest lightly on his chest. "I came here to help," she says simply. "And I'm not leaving." 

“Nyota—” His voice catches, his eyes dark with warning. She silences him with another kiss, and is delighted when his lips part and his tongue meets hers, first tentative, then eager. She presses her palms against his burning chest, feeling his heart pounding even harder than her own. Her fingers graze his nipples and he groans softly, but when her hand strays lower he grabs her wrist with a speed that startles her. “Nyota," he says, a desperate edge in his voice, "I did not think—further intimacy between us would happen in this way. You do not have to—" 

"Shh, I know." She presses her fingers to his lips and he stops abruptly. His eyes are dark and intent eyes as he watches her, as she slips her leg over him and rises to her knees, straddling his hips. She pulls her dress smoothly over her head, undoes her bra and throws them both aside. When she leans down to kiss him he inhales sharply, reaching up to touch her face, tangling his fingers in her hair. She turns her head to let him kiss her neck, her ear, while her fingers find the drawstring of his pants and pull, freeing him. 

"Oh, gods, Nyota," he breathes. Her breasts graze his chest as she traces the shape of his ear with her tongue. His body is inhumanly hot beneath her—his hips cradled between her thighs, his sides lean and trembling under her hands, his hardness brushing her stomach as if straining for contact with her tantalizing softness. She draws back for a moment to look at him, and he looks back at her, flushed and panting, his dark eyes filled with an unspoken need. 

"Yes," she whispers. "It's okay, I consent." 

His fingers are so light on her face, his touch so gentle that it's a shock when his mind pushes into hers with such force. It's startling and she almost pulls away, but his other arm holds her steady, and gradually she adjusts. She had forgotten Stonn and T'Pring for a moment, but that's impossible now: They're there in his mind, now joined with hers, and it's so physically real and intense that Nyota can hardly believe Spock was able to exercise any kind of restraint, let alone carry on a conversation with her. There are four of them now in his mind, a maelstrom of sensation and arousal, all shared between them.

Nyota kisses Spock again, feeling almost drugged by the insistent pulse of desire that momentarily drowns out all other thought. His hand slips from her face but the meld remains, and when he groans softly she feels the desperate urgency that lies beneath that gentle sound. She rises slowly to her knees again, trailing her hands down his chest, his stomach, the soft path of hair below his bellybutton. 

She pauses there, her hands poised above his straining cock. T'Pring and Stonn's desire, their want and hunger are around her and inside her; but Nyota ignores them, searching their joined minds for the part that's Spock's alone—and finds it, the clear flaring impatient need, laced with wonder and reverence. Their eyes meet and she hears one word in her mind: _Please._

It's all she needs. She takes his hard length in her hands, encircling his burning heat with cool fingers. His skin is so soft, like silk, and her first thought is, _be gentle_. Then his hand closes over hers, twining their fingers together; he adjusts her grip and pressure, squeezing harder, demanding a rougher touch than she would have dared to offer. At the first stroke of their joined hands he arcs beneath her, gasping, and in her own body Nyota feels the rush of pleasure and relief—what it means to him to be touched, to have her understand his need, to want him, human and Vulcan both. 

She looks down at his cock, rising pale and faintly green between her thighs, at their fingers laced together around its length. She sees Spock watching her astride him, and knows what a beautiful picture they make, how exciting it is to him to see it—and Nyota wonders if T'Pring and Stonn can see it too. Their joined hands stroke him again, and Spock's arousal mingled with T’Pring and Stonn's make Nyota's body throb. She bites her lip against the strange pleasure of it, rocking her wetness against his thigh to soothe her own ache.

"Nyota," he gasps, thrusting hard into the tight grip of their fingers. Her hips rock in time with the movement of their hands on his cock, and the rhythm of Stonn and T'Pring, whose pleasure pulses inside Nyota like she's the one being fucked. An image flashes in her mind—T'Pring bent over the table, Stonn taking her hard from behind. It's too much—and too much for Spock. He comes with a cry, spilling slick and hot over their hands, his hips jerking beneath her; and at the bright burst of pleasure in her mind Nyota follows, her body bucking against Spock's as her orgasm tears through her. It seems to go on forever, but at last she sags against him, collapsing on his chest with a sigh.

"That was—" she begins, but he's already flipping her effortlessly onto her back. He kisses her, deftly slipping her underwear down her legs, over her boots and off. _"Oh,"_ she breathes, as he pulls her leg up and around his waist, opening her to him, his slick hardness grazing her thigh. He leans down to kiss her again, a kiss in which she feels all the desperate longing of those months of waiting, and the relief that they're nearly over. And then, something else: Nyota feels T'Pring's awareness turn toward them, a tingle of surprise, embarrassment, annoyance. Then Stonn's—with interest and curiosity that quickly turns to titillation. There's a moment's confusion and then, like a door being closed, Nyota feels them withdrawing—T'Pring offended, Stonn reluctant—until only she and Spock remain. 

_I thought they'd never leave,_ Nyota thinks, and she feels Spock’s rumbling chuckle in her mind. She pulls him down to her, kissing his face, his neck, the hot green tip of his ear. Their bodies are so close, the slightest alteration will bring them together, and as she shares that thought with him they move as one—Nyota lifting her hips to meet his, Spock pressing forward, pushing into the tight heat of her body, and the pleasure of it leaves them both speechless for a moment. "Nyota, Nyota," he murmurs, when he can find his voice, and she can feel how overwhelmed he is.

"Shh, yes, I know, I know," she answers, her hands stroking his sides, his back. He's so beautiful to her, looking down at her in the firelight, his chest flushed delicately green and his lips parted. She shows him what she sees, and a little smile plays at the corner of his mouth. 

"Thank you, Nyota," he says. He kisses her, still faintly smiling as his hand finds her knee, lifting her, moving her into place so that his next thrust takes him all the way inside her, and they cry out together. _"Fuck!"_ he says, and she laughs because it's her word, from her mind, and it's crude but somehow not, when he says it. His hands find hers and hold them, and then they move together, and it's more beautiful than even he is. 

When she can, she'll message Kirk and McCoy, to tell them she's found Spock and that everything's fine. But not yet. This time is just for them. 

The night is young, and they're alone at last.


End file.
